


Five Fantasies that Molly had about Sherlock. Plus one that came true.

by Jenny_Starseed



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Five Times Plus One, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenny_Starseed/pseuds/Jenny_Starseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly may not have realistic expectations of Sherlock, but she’s not an idiot either.</p><p>Written before S2 aired, so a bit AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Fantasies that Molly had about Sherlock. Plus one that came true.

  
**One: Sherlock was a nice man.**   


When Molly first noticed Sherlock, she imagined him to be one of those lonely quiet men she always had a soft spot for. He never seemed to have any friends and he never ate at the canteen down stairs. She wouldn’t want to call it pity, she didn’t really know the man and some people thought pity was insulting. She didn’t think of it that way, she was often lonely herself and it was nice to meet another lonely soul, have a cuppa and maybe see a comedic film together. There was always a summer Pixar movie out, the one with the cute little robot looked very nice.

As the weeks progressed, the man seemed lonelier than ever. He was always hunched over a microscope, studiously recording his observations. Maybe he was a graduate student. They were always a bit isolated, cooped up in the lab all the time. Maybe they could go out, he could tell her how this was his first year in London, he wasn’t used to the London Underground and she would earn his gratitude and...well, her mind went to places she shouldn’t be thinking of at 4pm on a Tuesday afternoon at work.

Her little fantasy stood intact until that late August morning when she found the nerve to approach the young man, her best make-up on and her favourite canary yellow blouse on. He was still sitting in front of the microscope, twiddling the knobs to magnify his specimen better.

“Hello,” she greeted warmly. “My name is Molly. You must be new here.”

He rudely held up his hand without looking from his microscope. “Go away. I’m examining a very delicate fibre sample here and I don’t want your breath interfering with it. And isn’t there a fragrance free policy here in effect?”

Molly could only deflate at such a rude introduction. Her dreams of a nice handsome young man taking her to see Wall-E had vanished. All she wanted now was a packet of crisps and a Meg Ryan film on DVD. She quickly left the lab without a word and tried to keep her disappointment from showing on her face.

  
**Two: Sherlock was a nice man once you got to know him.**   


Maybe Sherlock was a nice man once you got to know him. Maybe she caught him off on a bad day that day with the microscope. Maybe his professor was putting undue stress on his dissertation. Or his dog died. Or his girlfriend recently broke up with him and now he doesn’t trust women at all. Maybe if she was nice, didn’t wear perfume (maybe he had allergies and that made him peevish towards her) and offered him a cup of coffee while he took a break from his studies.

She approached him nervously, as if he might be a cute little dog that could bite her hand at any moment. This time he saw her approach and looked at her blankly.

“Hello,” she began. “I’m sorry for disturbing your work the other day. I’ve brought you a cup of coffee...as an apology...”

“An apology for what?” he deadpanned.

“For diss-disturbing your work, you know...with the fibres,” Molly stuttered nervously.

“Oh,” he replied stiffly. “I’ve seem to have deleted that. I’m sorry.”

Molly could only brighten at that. He apologized! And he did look a little lost, the poor man.

“Molly, did you say your name was?” asked Sherlock.

“Yes.”

“You have access to the morgue?”

“Yes, I do. I work for the medical examiner, as an assistant...well, not for long...I mean, Doctor Price does allow me to do more examinations by myself...” Molly rambled on haplessly.

Sherlock could only nod numbly. “You see, I have some important experiments, about decaying human tissue samples around the Achilles tendon. Now, I don’t need a whole foot, but just the sample of tendon. What kind of paper work will I have to go through to procure such samples?”  
“Oh, there’s no problem of that,” Molly offered quickly. “I can get them for you tomorrow. It’s a teaching hospital after all, I’m sure I can find a sample that the students haven’t used yet.”

Sherlock could only smile at Molly. It didn’t quite look sincere. “That would be a dear, Molly. I will come pick it up tomorrow morning? Or should I just drop by the morgue? My name is Sherlock, by the way.”

“Just come by the morgue, I’ll have them for you by then,” replied Molly.

The next day, she found herself beside Sherlock, giving him instructions on how to store and keep the samples. He smiled at her and thanked her.

“Sherlock...if you want, maybe we can—“

Molly was rudely interrupted by the sound of Sherlock’s mobile. He checked the message before promptly heading out the door. “Sorry Molly! I have to go! Lestrade had just texted me about a murder. Expect a man in his mid forties to arrive in your lab this afternoon, goodbye!”

It was later that day that she met with Sally and Anderson, as they oversaw the transport of the body into the morgue. Molly always liked Sally, she was a bit crude with her words, but she was always so kind to Molly.

“Can you believe that bloke Lestrade brings in to examine our crime scenes?” complained Sally. “I can’t stand him, he’s nothing but a rubbish prick. A complete twat.”

“Surely he can’t be that bad,” Molly weakly argued. “Maybe he lost his dog, or had a bad breakup with his girlfriend...”

“More like kicked the dog and killed his girlfriend, or maybe boyfriend,” scoffed Anderson.  
“That’s not very nice,” retorted Molly.

Sally could only look on in sympathy. “Molly, Sherlock Holmes has no girlfriend, no puppies and certainly no heart. He’s a sociopath if I’ve ever seen them. I’ve read case studies; he seems to fit the description. He’s not worth your attentions, believe me, I speak from experience.”

Molly bit her lip. Sally wouldn’t slander someone without any reason. She reviewed her interactions with Sherlock and concluded that yes, Sherlock was not a nice man. Period.

  
**Three: Hate Sex (or something approximating it)**   


She had just come back from Sherlock’s flat. And she was pissed. Sherlock had called her mobile, sweetly asking if he could have her opinion on a few of the specimens he was cultivating on his Petri dishes. He always did like a fellow scientist to give him a second opinion on the typology of these particular spores that grew on half dead flesh. Molly was very flattered. It was the first time that Sherlock had spoken to her without making her feel two inches tall or non-existent. For once, she believed that he believed her to be a qualified professional who put a lot of hard work into her schooling to work at St. Barts.

She could hardly contain her spitting anger when she realized that he just wanted her to clean out his refrigerator for him. Two severed heads and a few limbs in the refrigerator. He had the nerve to tell her not to worry; he never stores food in that refrigerator. He is a trained scientist, to prove it, he got the necessary bio-hazard disposal bags and materials for her to handle, complete with purple latex gloves. Why? Didn’t she like the purple gloves? He thought it would make the job more pleasant.

But Molly was a good girl. She smiled thinly and did her job. She properly disposed of the body parts and went home for a long soak in the bath. She imagined Sherlock in his grey t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, scrubbing her bathroom floor on his hands and knees while she soaked in her bath. He would be scrubbing the mould out of the grout in between her bathroom tiles with a toothbrush.

She would get out of her bath, naked and Sherlock would look up, drop his toothbrush and gaped at her submissively. She would roughly take his head and put it towards...well her private area and he would do all those nice things to her private area that her first boyfriend used to do...to her. She would look at herself in the mirror as her face scrunched up in pleasure and Sherlock moaned into her private parts, enjoying every moment of it. He would then get up, have a sheepish look on his face with his handsome face flushing and quietly murmured an apology for being a prick. He would wrap her in a towel; carry her to her bed while she murmured her forgiveness.

She promptly snapped out of her fantasy wondering why she was such a submissive rubbish little twit. Even in her fantasies she lets Sherlock walk all over her. Well, there was only one thing to do. She closed her eyes and imagined Sherlock obscenely bent over the tub, while she fucked him mercilessly with a pink strap on dildo, to further his humiliation.

He would gasp out brokenly and desperately, “OH GOD! SORRY! Molly! I’m So SORRY! Please! Can I have some MORE? YES, keep DOING THAT.”

She awarded herself extra points for crushing his penis against the hard tub and creating some noticeable bruising around his middle section. Not to mention, she had one of the best orgasms that night in that tub.

The next day, she couldn’t really tell anyone why the sight of Sherlock on a stationary bicycle in the rehabilitation room with a notebook across his lap was so funny to her. He peevishly demanded that she tell him what was so funny about observing muscle fatigue on a stationary bike. Molly couldn’t say a thing while laughing, it would be really inappropriate anyways.

  
**Four: Sherlock Respects her as a Professional**   


She was finally allowed to conduct an autopsy by herself. She was very proud of herself and her hard work, and it was always her wish to have the respect of her peers and a certain consulting detective. She worked very diligently on poor Mr. Raby. There was an odd residue around his mouth and it looked like he suffocated on his vomit. She sent off her samples to toxicology, took the necessary photographs and recorded her findings with an electronic voice recorder. Her notes were neat and organized and she was very proud of herself when she presented her report to Inspector Lestrade.

“Sherlock would want a copy, would you mind e-mailing your preliminary findings?” asked Lestrade. “No need to include pictures.”

“Oh, no. That would be disrespectful to Mr. Raby,” replied Molly. “Consider it done, I will send Sherlock the attachment tonight.”

She had hoped Sherlock would come in the next day, praising her professionalism and her diligence. Maybe share a deduction or two. She had heard many of his deductions on mundane objects and random people walking through Barts. Maybe they could finally go out for that coffee so that they could maybe work together on this case. Unlikely, but Molly could always dream. Still, she wasn’t quite ready for the rude awakening that awaited her later that week.

A few days later, Sherlock marched in angrily, demanding why he wasn’t allowed to examine the body more closely before she cut him up. He needed to see the bruises more closely before the skin was broken. Molly was somewhere between indignation and tears. After a few moments of listening to Sherlock’s tirade, she decided tears were not an option. She was damn good at her job and this...this man-child!...was not going to undermine her work. She could only coldly pull out her folder of neatly organized photographs. She found grim satisfaction in the reluctant admission from Sherlock that her photographs were “adequate” for his purposes, as was her preliminary findings that she so graciously e-mailed him a few days before.

It was then that Molly decided that she had to stop her delusional foolishness. Sherlock was an absolutely dysfunctional man and she could only hope for a polite but distant relationship with Sherlock from now on. Still, the man was handsome...if Sherlock managed to piss her off again, she could always retreat to her pink dildo revenge fantasy.

  
**Five: Sherlock was jealous of her new Boyfriend, Jim.**   


Jim was a very sweet man. He was Jim, from IT. A smart, sexy, quiet man who kept in shape! He was always so timid around Molly, with his please and thank-you’s. They watched Glee together once an evening and he laughed at her silly jokes. He was just what she wanted.

She decided to show Jim off to Sherlock, while he was looking through that bloody microscope again. She admired Jim, thought he was so handsome. Maybe Sherlock found he was handsome too and was jealous. By this time, she concluded that Sherlock was probably gay or likely uninterested in relationships at all. He was never seen with a girl and he never caught her staring at Emily whenever she walked by, and all men stared at Emily. But if he was gay, she hoped that he thought Jim was handsome too, and then she could possessively hold Jim and say MINE! I can attract someone beautiful too! I’m not the mouse you think I am!

But that didn’t happen. Sherlock barely looked at Jim, and when he did so, he had a knowing smirk on his face that she couldn’t decipher. Jim awkwardly said his goodbye and there was an air of awkwardness in the room. He insensitively deduced Jim was gay by the state of his pants and his hair. To make it worse, he revealed the number Jim secretly slipped under the Petri dish by Sherlock’s elbow.

Molly didn’t need to verify the number, she knew what he said was likely true. Jim was likely gay, it was the only thing that explained Jim’s timidity around Sherlock. It mirrored her own when she first met him. She felt so humiliated; all she could do was weakly blame Sherlock for ruining everything. She stormed out of the room in tears.

She confronted Jim after work later that day. He tried to convince her that he wasn’t gay, but when she confronted him about the phone number, Jim could only sheepishly smile. A little boy smile that had a quality to it that made her uncomfortable, it wasn’t quite right. It was like Sherlock’s fake smile, but more...unsettling with a hint of mania. There was something off about him she couldn’t put her finger on, it made her gut tell her it was best to avoid making Jim angry. In fact, she needed to remove herself from his company without fuss as much as possible.

It was a few weeks later that rumours circulated about Jim. He had just disappeared from the IT office one day and all his references and his address were fakes. No one could find him; it was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. A few days after Jim disappeared, a bruised and shaken Sherlock knocked loudly on the door, demanding that Molly open her door because he had some questions about Jim that could not wait.

Sherlock looked quite shaken from whatever experience he had the previous night before. His hands had tiny small cuts on them and he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well. He gladly accepted a cup of camomile tea from her and it seemed to calm him a bit. She had never seen Sherlock so...ruffled and...untogether.

Her hand flew to her mouth when she listened to Sherlock tell her who Jim from IT really was. She felt sick and poured herself a glass of whiskey. Sherlock seemed impressed that she downed it in one gulp. She got up and gathered everything she had of Jim’s and answered all of Sherlock’s questions to his satisfaction. She gave Sherlock a hug to which Sherlock responded stiffly to her and she sent her best regards to John.

  
**Plus one: A pleasant encounter with Sherlock that leaves her feeling nice.**   


Molly had been dating Martin for a few weeks now. He was a genuinely handsome and sweet and bumbling young man who was genuinely lovely to be around. He was not a very posh man; he lived simply and sensibly but was always very considerate with Molly’s feelings and insecurities. Martin was always struggling financially but he was always painfully careful with his money. Not that Molly cared, she made a fairly good income herself and she didn’t put much stock into wealth anyways. All that mattered was that Martin was a genuinely good, honest and hardworking man.

Molly didn’t think much about Sherlock now that she had Martin, but she had hoped to one day have a pleasant encounter with Sherlock that wasn’t so full of unpleasantness. She found that Sherlock was not a nice man, but he wasn’t a bad man either.

They were Christmas shopping when they ran into Sherlock and John. She introduced Martin to John and Sherlock, moving aside as to not block the busy shoppers moving to and fro on the street. Sherlock kept his rude deductions in check, for he could clearly see that Martin was a bit ashamed about his financial status and was desperately trying to hide it. John light heartedly complained about the queues in the shops while Sherlock struggled to find something in his coat pocket.

He finally produced a small envelope and handed it to Molly.

“Oh, before I forget, this is for you,” said Sherlock with awkward warmth that Molly had not often heard from Sherlock before. “It’s a fifteen pound gift card to your favourite coffee shop. Consider it a token of appreciation for your hard work at St. Barts.”

Molly wordlessly took the small envelope from Sherlock. She didn’t know what to say really. She gave him a large smile and hugged him. Sherlock responded in his usual manner of adorable discomfort, patting her stiffly on the back.

When she pulled back, she still felt the silly grin on her face. “Oh look at me! I’m just embarrassing myself now.”

Martin gave her an affectionate small hug while shaking hands with John and Sherlock, wishing them a happy Christmas.

Martin gave Molly a gentle kiss and asked “Who was that man in the long coat?”

“Oh, just an old colleague of mine from work,” Molly kindly replied. “There’s no need to be jealous if that’s what you’re thinking, I just get silly over small unexpected gifts.”

**Author's Note:**

> As for Molly’s boyfriend at the end, you probably could all guess who he is if you’re part of that other small fandom I write for. If not, the fic works without it regardless, so it’s not quite a complete crossover. Martin can be whoever you want it to be.
> 
> None of these characters are mine. Unbeta-ed and Unbrit-picked.


End file.
